“You know,” Charlotte says behind me, book back in her hands. “You can sleep in the bed if you’d like. The floor can’t be good for your back. I don’t mind sharing.” She meets my eyes. “The bed’s yours too, after all.”
Don’t remind me. “I know.”
“Then why don’t you?”
Because no matter the size of the bed, if I sleep next to you, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself. I’ve been turned on for exactly seventy-two hours, three minutes and fifty-eight seconds. I want you, and whatever this isn’t between us too much, and I shouldn’t want you more than I want the cabin, but damn do I miss you.
“The floor is fine, thanks,” I say instead.
I shut my eyes, hoping to wake up to a different reality than my desire to rip Charlotte’s clothes—my clothes—off of her. To kiss and lick the peppermint taste off those perfect lips. Or me moaning her name from the gift of her tongue buried between my legs.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for the offer. The floor’s fine.”
“Suit yourself.”
I hear the rustle of fabric as she moves around. Nothing I think about slows the wetness building between my thighs. I exhale in agony, my gaze firmly planted on the ceiling, and count each wooden panel until my eyelids close.
Several minutes pass. The room settles into quiet. Then I hear footsteps.
I glance up just as Charlotte steps over me, one toned, long leg on each side of my head. I blink away the sight of red lace. This is a nightmare.
“Sorry,” she says, sweet and innocent, as if knowing her effect on me. “Forgot to turn off the light.”
The room goes dark. I lie there in the blackness, barely breathing, and listen as she climbs into bed.
“Sweet dreams, Kezia.” Mischief laces her soft tone. Even her yawn is attractive, making my stomach flip and flop.
After a long pause, I find my voice. “Night.”
I shift around to get comfortable, unable to ignore my pulsing clit and not being able to do a damn thing about it. I can’t think straight for more than five minutes before having inappropriate thoughts about Charlotte. A Christmas miracle won’t fix my increasingly poor judgement.
I grip my pillow and stare toward the bed, pining for the comfortable mattress and the woman snoring on top, while the floor mocks me again and promises another sore neck in the morning. I think about Ember and how she’ll abandon tomorrow’s training before we even start. Is there anyone in this cabin who isn’t under Charlotte’s spell?
CHAPTER 10
CHARLOTTE
It’s lessthan a week until Christmas, and I’m convinced Kez is nearing her breaking point. She’ll be putty in my hands in a matter of days. But as much fun as solo boudoir is, I have other business that needs my attention. I’ve spent the afternoon catching up on editing digitals for a beautiful sapphic couple Rory and I photographed in Japan. I’ll never forget that day, how stiff they walked into the studio, barely touching and full of nerves. By the time they left, they were giggling like lovestruck teenagers, already booking their next session. A reminder of why I love the work I do.
The fireplace crackles in front of me as I adjust my position on the couch, crossing one leg underneath the other, snuggling deeper into my favorite oversized knit sweater. My eyesight is strained after staring at a screen for several hours. I hit send on an email announcing proofs are ready, then shut my laptop.
Outside, Ember barks in a cadence at Kez’s commands. I try to make out what Kez is saying but her words are too muffled to hear. Curiosity piqued, I’m tempted to get up and investigate, but that’d require a bra and I’m not leaving this cozy spot or the warmth of the cabin.
I stretch my arms over my head when the sliding door opens. Cold air rushes in, followed by the sound of Kez wiping Ember’s paws with a towel. I twist around on the couch and look up just as Kez unclasps Ember’s vest and hangs it on a hook by the door. She tosses Ember a treat, which the puppy graciously accepts before trotting to her bed. Kez peels off her jacket and beanie, then adjusts her vest.
I do a double take. Why is she dressed in her uniform? I scan her entire body, up and down. She’s commanding without saying a word. Lean, defined arms under a fitted navy short-sleeved shirt. Her black hair is slicked into a tight, low ponytail, not a single strand out of place. A black vest hugs her chest with a radio clipped to her shoulder. She rests her hands on the utility belt slung low on her hips. Of all the items organized with precision, the silver handcuffs steal my attention, filling my head with thoughts of her using them on me.
There’s a confidence about her I didn’t notice until this point. I can only imagine how powerful she is in her element. My cheeks flush with heat.
I can’t help but stare at the way her pants hug her hips as she moves around the kitchen and bends to retrieve a pot from the lower cabinet. She catches me gawking. I quickly turn away and flip my laptop screen up like I haven’t been checking her out this entire time.
“Still working?” she asks behind me.
“Mmmhmm.” I nod, pretending to squint and focus on the screen I never typed a password into. I’m not paying attention to the gibberish flying from my fingertips as I clack away at my keyboard. Her footsteps slowly approach, each one making my pulse leap underneath my skin.
“Must be pretty important if you’re glued to your laptop this close to Christmas,” she says, her tone devilishly sweet.Especially given the delicious torment she’s received the last few days.
I mumble something about client commitments and chew on my bottom lip.
